


wings

by rmaowl



Series: january [28]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Animal Death, Animals, Anxiety, Background Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Birds, Blankets, Cold, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders is Extra, Crows, Crying, Crystals, Death, Diary/Journal, Eating, Emotional Hurt, Everyone Needs A Hug, Existential Angst, Existential Crisis, Existentialism, Fear, Feeding, Feelings, Food, Friendship, Gardens & Gardening, Gen, Hair, Hair Dyeing, Hugs, Hurt Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Laughter, Men Crying, Morality | Patton Sanders Tries, Morality | Patton Sanders is a Good Friend, Panic, Plants, Protective Morality | Patton Sanders, Rings, Secrets, Smile, Snacks & Snack Food, Snow, Wakes & Funerals, Water, Wet Clothing, Wings, Winter, Witches, Worry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-28
Updated: 2019-01-28
Packaged: 2019-10-19 03:54:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17594102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rmaowl/pseuds/rmaowl
Summary: Virgil’s sitting in the snow, numbed from the inside out.





	wings

There’s a crow that follows Virgil around, sleek wings slicing through the air, beady eyes staring inquisitively at him.

He doesn’t know why it appears so interested in him, but he does know that it’s always the same crow. He can tell. It leaves him trinkets and sparkly things in exchange for mildly stolen snacks. Eventually, Virgil starts leaving bits of bird-safe food outside his house, made intentionally accessible. He receives a tiny notebook for that, shiny metallic designs on the cover, sprawling and leafy. He starts out using it to record interactions with his newfound friend, but it soon devolves into a messy recount of ugly feelings. That helps just as much.

There’s a tap on his window. He looks up from his aforementioned notebook to find small black eyes staring back at him.

His lips quirk into a weary smile. He heads to the kitchen and snags a bag of sunflower seeds from a cabinet before stepping outside. He doesn’t bother with a coat or any other winter attire, assuming that he’s only going to be outside for a couple of minutes at most. The crow squawks, shifting from foot to foot, hopping around with persistence. He reaches into the bag, grabbing a handful of seeds and dropping them. They scatter across the pavement with a multitude of rattling sounds. It scoops them up gratefully, crunching them. Virgil stifles a small laugh, not wanting to startle the bird.

It leaves and returns with a tiny ruby-speckled ring. The name _Roman_ is printed on the inside in elegant cursive.

Virgil can’t help bursting into laughter now. The crow doesn’t seem to mind; if anything, it looks proud of itself.

* * *

“Hey, Princey, happen to lose anything lately?”

“Why, yes, actually. Do you know the whereabouts of— _hey! Get back here—_ ”

* * *

Virgil’s sitting in the snow, numbed from the inside out. Every article of clothing he has on is wet. His violet hair drips water down his face. The deadened plants surrounding him are brown and overgrown.

Lying on the ground in front of him is a tiny, feathery body who didn’t survive the dead of winter, nothing more than a carcass.

* * *

A blanket, a casket, both undersized. A hole in the ground, once the weather clears up. A pile of dirt.

Tears pave paths down Virgil’s cheeks, although he reprimands himself for the emotion.

It was a bird, but that was just the thing. It was a bird, a tiny being who didn’t owe him anything, and yet—

And yet.

Virgil crumbles.

* * *

"Sweetheart," Patton starts softly, "what did you bury in the garden?"

It's a crow. Virgil buried a crow.

Even so, he can’t _say_ that. He’d scare Patton off, despite his gentility and concern, further building his own terrifyingly mythical image. He already does weird things, like collecting crystals and sharing countless existential thoughts aloud. His friend group is already half-convinced that he’s a witch, gossiping and speculating; he doesn’t need to give them any more evidence.

“Time capsule,” he says, because that’s the first thing that comes to mind. It’s a rather unconvincing lie. Patton frowns, but he doesn’t call him out on it.

“Alright, what’s in it?”

Virgil stops functioning for a few moments. He’d misjudged Patton’s next course of action. He doesn’t have a plan for this situation. He—

“Hey, darling, breathe.” Patton gently takes Virgil’s hands to placing them again his steady chest. “I just... kiddo, I’m worried about you.”

What does Patton _think_ he has in there? A dead body? Because while that’s not _entirely_ untrue, that would probably mean Patton thought Virgil killed somebody, and— _no—_

“It’s a crow,” Virgil confesses in a panicked, high-strung rush. “Here, it, um. Um.” He pushes himself to his feet before he’s ready to move, stumbling as he trembles. He realizes, for the first time, that he’s freezing. He hurries towards his house, crashing through the rooms, in search of the notebook on his desk. Patton follows rapidly, calling after him. Virgil ignores it.

“Here,” he repeats, breathless. He’s offering the shiny pocketbook to Patton, hand outstretched. Patton takes it, confused. He begins to flip through its pages.

Virgil can tell when Patton gets to the emotional parts, because his expression becomes one of despair, one that spells out _how could you have hidden this from me?_

“You were hurting,” Patton murmurs, glancing up at him, eyes brimming with tears. “You had a bird friend. Oh, kiddo—”

Their bodies collide in a clumsy embrace. Patton rubs circles into his back.

They’re going to be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> three noun prompt: gossip, comfort, crow  
> dialogue prompt: “sweetheart, what did you bury in the garden?”


End file.
